


Good Boy

by babybrotherdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belly Rubs, Dog Dean, Episode: s09e05 Dog Dean Afternoon, Knotting, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-10 04:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3276278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dean refuses to let this dog thing get the best of him. It doesn't matter that Sam’s hands are gorgeous, huge and slightly roughened from their line of work, but managing to be so gentle whenever there’s a more delicate job to be done.</i>
</p><p>Dog Dean Afternoon: in which Dean really, really wants a belly rub, but he's a little too proud to ask for it. Sam knows his brother too well for his own good, though, and things escalate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

> [bulbul-e-bismil](http://bulbul-e-bismil.tumblr.com/) wanted puppy!Dean and belly rubs and Wincest, and I totally wanted to write all of those things, so this happened. This is pretty shamelessly porn/belly rubs with little to no plot, so if that's your kind of thin, then have fun!

Dean thinks that, in hindsight, he’d have never agreed to drink the damn potion in the first place if he’d known it would end up here.

As if it isn’t bad enough that he’s been barking at mailmen and eyeing up female dogs and playing fucking _fetch_ with his brother, he’s been starting to get… urges. It hadn’t really been an issue until they spoke to the dogs at the kennel- and how messed up is his life that it isn’t the weirdest sentence he’s ever thought?- and he’d spent half the time watching Sam give that stuck-up yorkie a belly rub.

Dean isn’t really _that_ desperate. He isn’t.

He refuses to let this dog thing get the best of him. It doesn’t matter that Sam’s hands are gorgeous, huge and slightly roughened from their line of work, but managing to be so gentle whenever there’s a more delicate job to be done.

Dean definitely _doesn’t_ have a problem.

As much as he tries to convince himself, though, it’s getting increasingly difficult to disregard the craving that’s been building since that damn kennel, and by the time they get back to the motel room at the end of the case, baddie iced and cops deterred, he’s barely even listening to what his brother’s saying.

Sam’s talking about something, he’s sure, about getting a home to send The Colonel to, but it’s all Dean can do to flop down in his bed, stretch his arms high above his head so his shirt rides up a little bit.

It’s just a coincidence, he convinces himself. Definitely not intentional at all.

He’s content to just lie there until he realizes that at some point along the way, Sam’s stopped talking, and he glances up to see his brother giving him a strange look.

“What?” he asks, shifts a little bit so his shirt rides up farther. His belly’s showing properly by now, the subconscious, dog-affected part of his brain decides, which he decides to blatantly ignore. “Yeah, we’ll get the hippies to take him or something. What’s your deal?”

Sam just stares for a long moment. “Has the potion worn off yet?” he sounds wary, sort of faintly amused, and Dean frowns a little bit.

“No.” He pauses a moment to arch his back, stretching, squirms around a little before settling down with what’s intended to be a sigh. It comes out closer to a whine than anything else. “Why?”

Another moment of silent staring, and then Sam’s getting up, heading over to the edge of the bed and looking down at where Dean’s stretched himself out. He raises his eyebrows expectantly. Dean stays where he is, wonders what it’s about.

Sam sighs, shakes his head. “Man, you really don’t even realize what you’re doing, do you?”

Dean frowns again, brow furrowed. How’s Sam expect him to think clearly when he’s standing so close, big hand running through his hair? It’s very distracting, has Dean making another soft sound under his breath and squirming in place again. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sam gives him a look of disbelief, then sits down next to him on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t say anything, but seems to hesitate for a moment before reaching out and resting his hand on Dean’s belly where the skin’s exposed. Dean stops moving, looks up at his brother with eyes that are probably a little too wide.

Sam raises an eyebrow. Dean stays silent.

“You really, really want a belly rub right now, don’t you?” Sam sounds more amused than anything else, maybe a little perplexed. “That shit’s got you all turned around, man.”

But the important thing here is that Sam finally _gets_ it, and Dean isn’t about to get the opportunity slip away. He lets out another soft whine, more intentional this time, presses into Sam’s touch a little to encourage him.

Sam sighs, shakes his head. “This is pretty weird. Even for you.” Without another word of protest, though, he shifts to face Dean more fully, hikes his shirt up a little higher. And then Dean’s not entirely sure on the details of what happens next, because he is in _heaven_.

Sam’s hands feel just as good as he’s been imagining (whether he’ll admit that to himself or not). They’re big and warm and slightly calloused, and that yorkie can go suck it because Dean’s pretty sure this is the best belly rub that’s ever happened in the history of forever. He doesn’t even bother trying to stifle himself, little whines and whimpers escaping him as Sam’s hands work over his stomach and, after some time, up to his chest.

Dean’s not sure, exactly, when the mood changes, but Sam’s getting more into this and Dean’s definitely been on board from the start, so when his little brother moves to straddle his hips before continuing, he doesn’t make any move to stop him.

“I should stop,” Sam murmurs, hands working a little lower, fingernails scraping gently over the skin low on Dean’s stomach. “Tell me to stop.”

Dean thinks his pupils must be blown wide right now, only manages to shake his head. “Please,” he whispers instead, doesn’t really know what he’s asking for, but his pants are getting tight and he thinks it’d be damn near impossible to miss the bulge that’s growing in Sam’s. 

Sam swallows hard, wets his lips, keeps going. His hands are moving more slowly now, fingertips working into Dean’s skin, roaming over his abdomen in wide circles. When he moves lower, hesitating over the button on Dean’s jeans, it just takes a wordless nod before he’s getting them undone, having Dean lift his hips to get them down and out of the way. 

Dean’s panting by now, a little breathless, watching his brother with wide eyes. He thinks maybe they’ve gone too far already, but really just can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s left in just his boxers, Sam hovering over him and licking his lips, the movement seemingly unconscious, hands returning to smooth over his skin again.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice sounds a little wrecked, and all Dean can think is how they haven’t even really _done_ anything yet, and of course that sends him in the direction of wondering where, exactly, he thinks this is going to end up. “Dean, can I- I mean. Can I?” It seems that’s all he can bring himself to say, hands petting over Dean’s stomach and sides almost frantically, like he needs to distract himself from doing anything else. 

And even if Dean’s maybe not completely sure what his brother’s asking for, in the end, he finds himself nodding, because this is _Sam,_ and they’ve always been far from ordinary, nowhere even approaching normal. 

It’s all the permission Sam needs, and he pulls away for a moment, shucks his shirt, his pants, helps Dean get his shirt up over his head and then they’re both left in their underwear, just looking at each other, not speaking. Neither of them move for a long moment until Sam shifts his weight, moves to settle a hand on Dean’s chest, strokes down to his stomach. Dean can’t quite stifle the whine that escapes.

“S’okay, Dean, I’ve got you,” Sam whispers, seems to hesitate a moment before he hooks his fingertips in Dean’s boxers and pulls then down slowly, off his legs and out of the way.

For a moment, Sam just stares, has Dean squirming a little and mumbling something about how he should just “take a picture, it’ll last longer,” but then Sam reaches out and brushes his fingertips lightly over the base of his cock and he can’t really think coherently anymore.

“Dean.” Sam sounds almost amazed, a little confused. A lot curious. “You- did you notice this?”

Dean has no idea what his brother’s talking about, and frankly, he can’t really bring himself to care at the moment as long as Sam keeps touching him. Sam rubs his fingertips over- over _something_ , though, that has Dean’s breath catching, his hips bucking up, because he was pretty sure he’d never been this sensitive before. 

“This- dude. You have a _knot_. Like a dog.” Sam laughs, a little breathless, looks up at Dean again. “Seriously, how did you miss this?”

Dean makes a noncommittal grunting noise, shakes his head. As little as he knows about dogs, he’s pretty sure it’s a dog thing. He hasn’t exactly had time to inspect his own body for any physical changes the spell might’ve caused, but he figures it sort of makes sense. “What, s’it too weird?” he asks, brow furrowing a little. 

Sam seems to consider it for a moment, then pulls away. Dean’s worried until he realizes his brother’s just digging around in his bag, producing a bottle of baby oil, the one Dean uses for the car’s seats. “Not too weird, just- change of plan,” he murmurs.

Dean’s not sure he really understands what Sam means until he’s pulling off his boxers, shifting on his knees to spread them apart. Dean’s eyes are stuck on his brother’s cock- because it’s not like they’ve never seen each other like this, but Christ if Sam isn’t proportional up close- and he’d have completely missed Sam popping open the bottle of oil and drizzling it onto his fingers if it weren’t for the click the cap makes when it’s opened.

When Sam reaches behind himself slowly, Dean’s eyes are redirected, watching in amazement as Sam starts to finger himself open.

Dean sits up slowly as Sam works, eyes flickering between his brother’s face, his cock, and where he can just barely see Sam’s fingers disappearing into himself. Dean swallows hard, has to clutch his fingers tight in the sheets to stop from touching himself. To stop from listening to the little voice in the back of his mind whispering about how he should _breed his bitch_. Definitely not a path he wants to go down.

Sam’s letting out soft pants, little groans as he moves his fingers inside himself. By the time he’s up to three of them and starting to get his pinkie in there, too, Dean’s moved in close, can’t quite stamp down the urge to lean in close, pressing his nose into his brother’s neck and breathing in deep. He smells like sweat and sex and _Sam_ , and before he can really think it through, he’s licking a stripe up Sam’s neck, smiles at the sound of Sam’s gasp above his head.

He’s being pushed back a moment later, gentle but insistent, flat on his back again. Sam’s pupils are blown wide, fingers slick with the oil and out of him now, fumbling for the bottle again.

“Hold on, Dean,” he breathes, sounds like he’s talking just for the sake of it. “Just a sec, I’ve got you.”

He manages to get some more lube in his hand, then moves to spread it over the length of Dean’s cock. Dean’s breath catches on a moan, arching up slowly into the touch, almost fucking Sam’s hand. “Sammy, c’mon,” he says, doesn’t even really think about it. “Need you. Please.”

“Yeah,” Sam whispers, finishes what he’s doing and pulls his hand away. “Yeah, De, s’okay.” And then he’s moving, shifting to kneel over Dean’s hips, hand on Dean’s cock again as he lines it up with his entrance. He takes a deep breath before slowly sliding down it, and most of Dean’s coherent thought goes out the window, replaced with _hot_ and _tight_ and _Sammy_. 

By the time Sam’s seated properly in his lap, they’re both panting hard, Dean barely propped up on his elbows and trying very hard to stay still. Maybe Sam’s done this before, maybe not, but even in the hazy, arousal-fuelled state he’s in, he can’t imagine it’s all that easy. 

“Just- just take your time,” he manages, sits up a little more to settle his hands on Sam’s hips. “Just- fuck, Sam.”

Sam nods a little, looks almost dazed. “You think it’s gonna get bigger?” he asks suddenly, shifts his hips. That’s when Dean realizes that Sam’s not quite all the way down yet; his knot- and that definitely sounds weird as hell- is just barely brushing against his rim. “Think I can get it inside me, Dean? You think it’ll fit?”

And maybe it’s the dog part of him thinking again, but suddenly all he wants is to have Sam like that, stuffed absolutely full, hanging off his knot. He only manages a soft whine in response, hips bucking up of their own accord, and Sam laughs, breathless.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, nods once. “Yeah, alright. Let’s try this.”

He bites his lip, takes a deep breath before starting to move down slowly. Dean gasps, tenses up, struggles not to move. It only takes Sam a moment to notice.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, reaches down. Then he’s rubbing at Dean’s belly again, soft and slow, and Dean goes lax. “Just let me do this, yeah?”

Dean manages a nod, small and a little dazed, looks up at his brother through eyes glazed with lust, with pure need as Sam continues. Dean watches the way his chest moves, expanding as he takes a deep breath; the way his thigh muscles are tense as he moves himself down Dean’s cock. It’s mesmerizing, and he can’t bring himself to look away. He doesn’t even realize how far Sam’s moved until he settles, panting hard for breath, and Dean realizes he’s done it.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers, reaches out to brush his fingertips over Sam’s rim where it’s pulled tight around his knot. Sam gasps, tenses slightly with the touch but doesn’t seem to be in pain.

Sam takes a moment to catch his breath, but then he’s moving, not pulling off but grinding down, moving his hips in tight little circles that have Dean gasping, rolling his hips up. He can tell he’s moved just right when Sam cries out, tightens up around him, whispers “there Dean, fuck, right there,” and grinds down hard, fingers digging into Dean’s skin where his hands rest on his stomach.

Maybe it’s the dog thing, maybe it was the belly rub, maybe it’s just _Sam_ , but Dean’s already getting close, can feel the heat pooling low in his stomach. He reaches out, grabs the back of Sam’s neck and pulls him down, pulls him in close, and then they’re kissing and nothing really matters anymore. 

Everything seems to slow down in that moment, seems to solidify and stop all together. Sam’s lips taste like the coffee from earlier, his pansy half-frap vanilla shit, smooth and sweet. He’s demanding, though, gets his tongue in Dean’s mouth and takes his time staking his claim. There’s a possessive edge to it, something Dean can almost taste, and he makes a noise that’s something like a soft growl as he nips at Sam’s lower lip.

It doesn’t take long after that. Dean barely had the presence of mind to reach out and get a hand on his brother’s cock- dog brain or not, he knows his manners and he damn well knows how to take care of any sexual partner- and he makes it through maybe three solid strokes before he feels Sam tense up and clamp down tight around his cock, moaning out a strangled “ _Dean_ ” as he comes. It paints Dean’s hand and Sam’s chest and Dean can’t even care, can’t bring himself to bitch about it because it’s the trigger he needs to finish, groans into his brother’s mouth when he reaches his own orgasm. 

They ride it out together, Sam rocking on Dean’s cock, and for a few moments, Dean doesn’t even realize that his knot’s swollen up even bigger. He notices once Sam just settles down on his chest, and he turns enough for them both to be settled on their sides.

It’s quiet for a bit, both of them panting for breath. Dean’s eyes are closed, so he doesn’t notice Sam’s movement until he feels the hand on his belly again, rubbing in wide circles, smearing the come around. It’ll be gross later, probably, but for now Dean just makes a soft noise of content. He knows they should talk about this, but it can wait, he thinks.

The last thing he hears before he drifts off, physically and mentally worn out, is his brother’s voice.

“Good boy, Dean. That’s a good boy.”


End file.
